


A Bitter and Deathless Hatred

by valis2



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-20
Updated: 2005-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valis2/pseuds/valis2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for ac1d6urn, who requested:  "How about Snape & Black, a hate story?"  Title is a quote from Jack London's <i>Call of the Wild</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bitter and Deathless Hatred

Severus Snape's joy in Black's death was shortlived.

The first day he returned to Grimmauld Place he felt exhilirated. Walking across the threshold gave him a thrill like none other. Even Black's mother couldn't dampen his spirits. He gave Remus a nasty smile and walked into the kitchen.

During the meeting the other members of the Order looked sad. Severus gave his report, detailing the Dark Lord's plans for recovery, rejoicing that Black was not here.

Moody took over next, explaining how they were planning on incarcerating the Death Eaters without Dementors.

That's when he felt it.

The knives were angry. The knives were shaking in the drawer. They hated him, wanted to flay him alive, they wanted to excise his liver and fillet his heart.

Minerva commented that he looked pale, and the feeling faded.

During the next visit the troll's leg muttered nasty bone-breaking curses under its breath.

Then it was the curtains, who wanted to strangle him, stuff his mouth with dust, shred him and rend him.

He dreamed at night that the glasses rose up and crashed over him like a wave, like the deathless wave of the sea, green and shining and suffocating. He dreamed that the stairs were warping and bending and imprisoning him within their knots. He dreamed that the pictures were all blank, emptied of Black, of Lupin, of Potter, that they gleamed and gaped at him, latching onto his robes, pulling, strangling.

In the middle of the night he stole away to Black's grave.

"Stupid bastard," he seethed. "Fine. I'm sorry."

The next meeting he sat quietly. He could just faintly make out the milk-jug, giggling.


End file.
